My Brother Sherlock
by elfmaiden4legs
Summary: ****Mycroft writes about his baby brother, part of my Sherlock 'Pictures of You' series! Follows on from 'My Boy Sherlock!


**My Brother Sherlock**

Growing up Sherlock was always a little different from the other children his age. I suppose we both were, but my little brother always seemed to be more profoundly affected by the condition which afflicted us both – they called it high functioning autism.

It couldn't have been easy for mother, having to cope with two young boys who found the world in which they lived a confusing and often frightening place, and a husband who was never there. I sort comfort and reassurance in routine, and with the help of a strict and regimented schedule managed to adopt something of a normal life – unfortunately Sherlock could not.

Our father was a brute. He hated difference, and what he saw as weakness. He could never accept the fact that his two sons had been born with what he saw as a disability, and unfortunately Sherlock bore the brunt of his rage. If Sherlock grew frustrated he would scream and shout, and our father would lock him in his room. If Sherlock cried then our father would beat him until he stopped – until Sherlock learnt not to, and he didn't cry anymore.

My brother used to be a loving and affectionate child, although he was very much locked within his own little world he would cling to our mother's legs and throw his small arms around her neck. He never said 'I love you', but the signs of the love he felt but never knew quite how to express were always there.

However he changed after our father got to work on him. First he became nervous and withdrawn, and then he became cold and distant. He was never intentionally hurtful, but he was never openly affectionate again. It broke my mother's heart.

My little brother has always been highly intelligent. Despite the autism which made the development of social skills, and his integration into social situations very difficult for him, his intellectual ability rather strangely always seemed to have been relatively unimpaired. He was awkward with his teachers, and often refused to do his lessons – but at home he began to dedicate more and more time to puzzle books and mysteries, and by the time he turned five he'd already outgrown many of the books which would have stumped even the most ardent of puzzle solver. By the time of his tenth birthday he'd decided that he was going to become a detective – although he had no desire to affiliate himself with the police. He knew his mind was superior, and he had no time for people.

I never really worked to try and repair our strained relationship – something which I will always regret. It was hard enough for me to try and build the bridges I needed, let alone with someone who was so cold and distant, and as my position rose in the government it was easier to throw myself into work. I've never been able to forgive myself for the fact that being the eldest I could have done more to protect him from our father's beatings, but I too was scared and didn't dare incur the wrath of his fury.

Meanwhile Sherlock went to college, and after he graduated started making a name for himself as a private detective.

I did my best to keep an eye on him, but my little brother wasn't very appreciative of my efforts – he didn't like the thought of my intrusion into his world, and it wasn't until John came into his life that I felt I could finally relax in the knowledge that he would finally be safe and properly looked after. It reassured me to know that there was now someone in his life to remind him to eat and sleep when he was otherwise preoccupied with a case, and through John I hoped that he might slowly start to gain some understanding of the wider world.

My brother you see is not a machine as so many people think. He has a brilliant mind, but he is also a human being – as are we all. Gifted as he is this doesn't make him inhuman – he still bleeds if you cut him, and contrary to what people may believe he is capable of emotion.

I am proud of my brother, despite his hostilities towards me, and his reluctance to let me into his world – which I cannot entirely blame him for. I am proud of what he has achieved, and built up for himself, all off his own back, for I know exactly what he has had to overcome in his lifetime in order to make any of this a possibility.

Words cannot express how pleased I am for him that he has also finally found a friend.

He is, and after all will always be, my baby brother.

My brother – Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
